Johannes, The 5th Alone in the evening on Ostergade, I rather like that! But of course, don’t suppose I’d think so little of you, I see your servant in tow. But why do you move with such a restless anxiety? As a big, grown-up girl, shouldn’t one know something about the world? If it were only possible to go out without the servant behind.

Watch out! Your servant has fallen down. To go on with a mud-stained servant is disagreeable, impossible. To go alone is risky. Watch out! The monster approaches… You don’t answer me. You just look at me. You are still a little anxious, you haven’t forgotten this sinister figure’s approach. On your closer inspection, I make no impression at all on you; I look like a good-natured person from quite another world. Nothing in my speech to disturb you, nothing to remind you of your situation, no slightest movement of mine that comes too near you.

The bashfulness which averts my gaze from you gives you the upper hand; you feel safe, maybe even tempted to poke a little fun at me. You thank me for my civility, you offer me your hand… Why do you turn pale? Isn’t my voice unchanged, my bearing the same, my eyes quiet and calm? What can a handclasp mean? Very much, my little miss.

Within a fortnight I shall explain everything to you; until then you must remain in the contradiction: I am a good-natured person who came like a knight to the aid of a young girl, and I can also press your hand in a way that is anything but good-natured.

Johannes, April 7th On Saturday I finally decided to call once again on my much-travelled friend, Adolph Brunn. To that end I set out for Vestergade, where someone told me he was living. However, I did not find him there, not even on the third floor, which I reached quite out of breath. As I was about to descend, I hear a melodious female voice “Monday then, one o’ clock, at the exhibition; the others are all out then, but you know I never dare see you at home.” The invitation was directed not to me, but to a young man who was out the door in a flash.

Now the exhibition swarms with girls - which one is you, my beautiful unknown? But here comes a young girl, all a flutter, hurrying, she forgets to hand over her ticket and the man in red stops her. What a rush she’s in! Do but remember you are to meet the beloved. When such an innocent young hothead confronts such a rendezvous, she tackles the matter like a madwoman… she’s a devil’s child, she storms through all the rooms. You must learn to hide your eagerness a little! Though your meeting is one of those innocent ones…

In a way one gains something by becoming more experienced; for although one loses the sweet unrest of impatient longing, one gains a preparedness to make the moment really beautiful.

But what the devil has become of the fellow? It’s already two o’clock. What fine types, these sweethearts! Maybe the time to speak to her would be now, as she passes by me for the fifth time. “Pardon my boldness, fair young lady! You are no doubt looking for your family up here; you have hurried past me several times. I noticed you always stop at the second to last room - perhaps you are unaware that there is still another room further in where you may find them.”

I am glad the person has not come; one always fishes best in troubled waters. I sit down again, look at a depiction of a pastoral landscape, and watch her. I know quite well there’s not a soul in the inner room, solitude will have a beneficial effect upon her.

She’s sitting. Poor girl, she looks so sad. How beautiful she is, now that the psychic squalls have subsided and she rests in a singular harmony of sadness and pain. She really is captivating. Devil take the scoundrel! If there isn’t a man arriving who can only be him, and just as I’ve gotten the situation how I wanted it. No matter, something can surely be salvaged from it. I must touch upon their relationship, have myself placed in the situation. When she sees me she’ll have to smile at my believing she was looking for someone quite different… that smile makes me her accomplice, which is always something.

Within two hours I shall know who you are - why else do you think the police keep census rolls?

Johannes, The 9th Has the soul’s inner eye lost its power? It’s as if I’ve seen a heavenly revelation, so completely has her image vanished from me, and but vainly do I call upon all the strength of my soul to conjure it forth again.

I was walking along Langelinie, to all appearances unconcerned and without regard to my surroundings, although my watchful glance let nothing go unobserved, when my eye fell on her. I could not being myself to use it to survey the object I would behold; I did not see, I stared. The only thing I can remember is that she wore a green cape, and that she was accompanied by an older lady, possibly her mother.

The girl made an impression on me and I have forgetten her; the other made no impression and I remember her. So it goes.

Johannes, The 11th The same contradiction still blinds my soul. I know I have seen her, and I know I have forgotten it in such a way that the residue of memory gives me no refreshment. My soul demands this image with a restless vehemence that puts my wellbeing at risk, it does not appear.

I could tear out my eyes to punish them for their forgetfulness.

This is a curious state to be in, yet it has its pleasant side both in itself and also because it proves to me that I am still young. I am over my ears in love, I am a little confused. So much the better, so much the more I promise myself from this relationship.

Johannes, The 14th I hardly recognize myself. My mind rages as a sea tossed by the storms of passion.

Rage, you wild forces, stir your powers of passion! Even if the crashing of your waves hurls the foam to the skies, you will still not manage to pile up over my head; I sit serene as the King of the Cliff.

I almost lose my footing, like a water bird I seek in vain to land on the surface of my mind’s turbulent sea. And yet such turbulence is my element, I build upon it, just as the Kingfisher builds its nest upon the sea.

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